


Buried Alive

by JasonToddIsAmazing



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Angst, Gen, I don't know, Most characters are only mentioned, One shot?, Sad, This Isn't Going To Be Happy, he just want Bruce, i might write more?, jason is too precious, just back from the dead jason, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-16 05:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11247033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasonToddIsAmazing/pseuds/JasonToddIsAmazing
Summary: Jason never asked to be brought back from the dead, he never asked to be abandoned by the only man he'd call his father. But life just loved fucking him over again, and again, and again. He just could never catch a break. The first step was waking up in a box, it's only later he learnt it wasn't a box but a coffin.





	Buried Alive

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is my first story on here it's been a while since I last wrote and this hasn't been beta read so ? I try ? If you find a mistake please tell me so I can correct it ? Hope you enjoy ? I also have a Tumblr ?

Jason never asked to be brought back from the dead, he never asked to be abandoned by the only man he'd call his father. But life just loved fucking him over again, and again, and again. He just could never catch a break. The first step was waking up in a box, it's only later he learnt it wasn't a box but a coffin. But for now he was in a box alone, hurt, cold, and scared. It took him a while, he would never be able to tell how long he waited, but it was a while. He waited long enough for the air to get thin and the panic to set in. It had been long enough to be obvious that no one was coming to help. But, he just couldn't remember why he need help, couldn't remember why he knew batman wasn't coming to save him. Jason just couldn't remember anything, names faces and events floated in his head. But he couldn't piece together why he was in a box. The panic swelled, and he started to bang and scream at the roof of the box. His limbs ached, but he didn't stop until tears were streaking down his unmasked face and his throat burned. 

A few shaky breaths later and a hand against fine silk made his stomach churn, he was in a box covered in silk surrounded by a solid substance of which he guessed was soil. It hit him like the swing of a crowbar, he was in a coffin? He was buried alive? A slight sob left him, it was only a small noise but it seemed loud in the small space and almost echoed.

Jason ran his hand down to where his utility belt should have been, but found the space empty. For some reason he knew it would be, he was unmasked so why would the belt be there? What he found in its place was smooth leather and a metal buckle in a square shape. After a quick moment of exploration he realised the he was dressed in a suit, a good one at that if the feel of the material had anything to say about the quality. Was this a trick by the Joker? Why was the Joker the first person who he blames? What was going on? It was all so scrambled to him, shattered and mixed up in his head. The one thing Jason knew was he needed out of the coffin, and he needed out now. 

A quick search of his pockets turned out nothing but a lighter and a piece of paper. It was pitch black and he was tempted to light the lighter to see the paper. Was it a clue to what had happened? Why he was in a coffin? But that would have to wait, there was limited space and the fear of setting the coffin on fire was too great. He'd get out and then look at the photo. That was the best plan. But first he needed to get out. His hand quickly found its way back to the belt, he could use the buckle to get out, to get back to Bruce. The paper and light were tucked safely away.

It took time but Jason managed to shift enough in the small space to work the belt off. His head was starting to spin and he quickly busied himself with attempted in work a hole in the top of the lid. The silk was already ripped from his earlier futile attempts of escape so the polished wood was worked on next. What started out as a steady pace soon turned frantic his fingers burned and his hands were just pain. But when a sprinkle of dirt fell onto his face he could have cried with joy. It was only a couple of seconds later he realised the problem with the soil, it fell into his mouth and eyes as he continued to scratch at the roof and pry away pieces of wood.

After a rather long shuffle a ripped piece of shirt covered his mouth and nose, the jacket was over his head for protection and he was back to work. As soon as the hole was big enough the belt was abandoned and he clawed at the dirt pushing it down into the bottom of the coffin as he started to work his way up. 

Jason almost gave up even with his precautions dirt got through his protection getting into his mouth and eyes. Dirt pressed into the fabric covering his face and the cuts on his fingers gained from digging screamed. But Jason continued clawing at dirt and pulling his way up to the surface. When his had reached the surface he could have cried for happiness.

After several more pain staking minuets his torso was out of the dirt and into the air, the protective cloth was pulled off and he took a gasp of clean fresh air. It was a dark night but the moon provided enough light for him to see, or maybe over the years fighting side by side with batman he'd gained a tolerance for the dark. Jason took deep breathes and gained the energy to pull his legs out the muddy hole he'd created. His face pressed safely against damp grass and he curled around his hands, the moonlight catching on the blood covering his hands and fingers. With a swift pull several of the larger splinters of wood were pulled out his hands and abandoned on the grounds. 

After several moments he had gained enough oxygen for his head to stop spinning and the panic to fade just a little. His body seemed like lead and the desire just to lay in the mud for a little longer was strong, he almost did but the cold was starting to seep into his bones. A couple of painstaking moments later and he was sat up to a degree it was more like slumped to the side, but at this point it was good enough. The moonlight seemed to be brighter than he ever remembered seeing it before even on the clearest nights it was never this amazing. His attention was quickly stolen away from the sky by a streak of gold just meters away near where he had popped out the ground. The stone was a murky grey colour which had once been a bright white if the patches of clean rock were anything to go by. Jason's best guess was marble or granite maybe to be honest it wasn't much of a guess they were the most popular base for graves. It hit he full, it was a grave, he had been in a grave and no one had come to help. 

His thought were immediately invaded by Bruce was he okay? If he hadn't come did that mean he was in a similar situation? How long had he been down there? The predominant thought was Bruce. The name swirled and a wave of anger accompanied it which was strange, why was he mad at Bruce? His emotions started to fizzle and the tears built up again it seemed he still had enough energy to cry. He looked back at the gravestone inspecting the most obvious writing in a gold paint which was still chipped and faded it was obviously no new. But the name, the name, Jason couldn't even process it the words swam in his head jumbling around making a numbness set in that made the cold seem like nothing. The name in fancy gold writing was his, Jason Todd, written in the most elegant of script. It felt like his blood had turned to ice and he felt sick. He felt too weak too dizzy too wrong. From his positing it was easy to slump forward and curl up knees coming up to his chest a strange pull along his skin as he did so bit that could easily be ignored for the comfort the position gave. He felt numb there was not other word that described the feeling better. 

It could have been minuets or hours before he found the strength just to do something, he started simple inspecting his hands. They were bleeding covered in mud and shaking. He tried to calm the shaking but it only succeeded in making it worse the shaking moving up his arms and becoming more violent. He moved his attention to what was once a suit, the fabric expensive fabric was torn and the jacket rested less than a meter away, now a muddy ball rather than a smooth black. Everything else was as expected, the expensive and also ruins shoes, a watch resting on his wrist and a tie around his neck which seemed to have survived relatively well. He made short work of pulling of the tie because really he hated ties they felt like they were trying to choke you. That though immediately sent him into a panic yanking on the tie and pulling open the top button his breaths coming in short quick pants that refused to calm down. Nails were on his throat as he pulled the fabric trying to remove an invisible force from around his neck a memory surfacing in his mind of chains and insane laughs. Time blurred, his throat burned as noises left his mouth, tears streamed down his face and a echo of a voice invaded his mind 'who is the big bad bat? His name, tell me'.

It felt like days until the memory shattered and he could breath. Shaking hands went tentatively to his face where tears and snot mixed with blood and mud. Deep gasps could be heard in the silence of the grave yard his own desperate plea for help. Nothing but silence was the reply, he was no where close enough for help if not someone would have come at the sounds of screams. Eyes moved to the sky where the thick smog of Gotham had covered the moon and stars making the sky darker and more intimidating than comforting. His arm moved covering his face as his back sank into the mud, he didn't even remember moving. The memory too vivid even in the shattered pieces it had become, was it real? Was it a dream? Was it all his imagination? The memory slipped as he tried to remember, tried to think back, but nothing useful came there was only that one painful shard of a memory that seemed to wound him beyond repair. He didn't remember much but he knew Batman wasn't coming he could feel it in his gut, in his bones. If Batman was coming he would have arrived long before this.

It took an embarrassing amount of times before Jason managed to struggle to his feet, mud caking his body from heady to toe and squelching under expensive shoes. Head still spinning and all caution thrown to the wind he stumbled to the gate. It was ornate metal twisting and bending to form a masterpiece that tickled his memory. He passed grave after grave all as expensive and uncared for as shown by dead flowers sitting at the bases. The rhythm of walking continued even when all his strength has left, the movement jerky and harsh but at the same time it was all he had left. No weapons, no memory, no Bruce. A photo flashed into his memory Batman flying beside a new Robin. No Bruce. He was never coming. The context of the memory was lost to him but Bruce was gone and he was alone. It was like his years in park row he was alone and unloved. He'd survived once and he would do it again. 

Jason didn't look back towards the graves too afraid of the memory's that he didn't remember, that he didn't know. Stumbling blindly onwards towards nothing and everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Please like and comment ? I'll hopefully have another chapter to put up next Monday ? Hopefully being the key word.


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